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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25642837">Coffee Breath</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/skiesof_hope/pseuds/skiesof_hope'>skiesof_hope</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops &amp; Cafés, Angst, Davey is an exhausted English major, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Ill update these tags as i go, Implied Past Abuse, M/M, Mild Cursing, all chapter titles are song lyrics and music is a reassuring theme, also jack does latte art!!!!, and im an absolute simp for it, and then it get s kinda messy, because coffee shop au, but also a barista, but also a dumbass, jack is an artist, race is a certified genius, they get together pretty fast, you know how it is</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:48:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,617</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25642837</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/skiesof_hope/pseuds/skiesof_hope</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>So, yeah, his job as a barista was a complete waste of time.</p><p>But there were a few perks, like that one regular.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Sarah Jacobs/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. as i recall you were looking out of place</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! Thank you for reading my attempt at this! I absolutely love the aesthetic of coffee shops and the idea of meeting someone at a coffee shop just always seemed really cute to me so, yeah, I wanted to write it.  </p><p>I used a few curse words in this chapter so look out for those if that bothers you. I'll make sure to add trigger warnings at the beginning of each chapter!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Opening the store was a mindless task. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He got in at about four-thirty in the morning, poured himself an espresso, and started mopping the floor. The New York City morning was nice and quiet. It was comforting, especially during tech week at the theater. Customers usually didn’t start coming in until six so he had about an hour or two to himself to decorate the chalkboard signs with art that was far too elaborate or make sorry attempts at latte art. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he was being honest with himself, Jack didn’t need to keep his job at Starbucks. Doing freelance art as well as designing sets at his mom’s theater was paying him well enough. He didn’t need to worry too much about his expenses seeing as he lived with his two brothers and his brother-in-law who all also worked full time, and their adoptive mother was a goddess who would pay their rent for the rest of their lives. So, yeah, his job as a barista was a complete waste of time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to quit, but there were a few perks to working there a few times a week. For instance, he got free coffee before, during, and after his shifts. The benefits were amazing and in New York, you could always use a little extra cash. And then there was that one regular. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>David, a tall college student around his age who always wore button-up shirts and seemed to always be typing furiously on his phone came in about three times a week. Occasionally he would bring his little brother along with him and Jack would always give him a free cookie or a cup full of whipped cream. They would order, make small talk, and then they would sit at one of the far tables, David either working on his phone or computer and Les sitting quietly, content with eating his muffin and watching the other people in the store. Jack had tried to get to know him a few times before but he was always in a rush whenever Jack asked a question. He was never rude about it, he just gave a pained-looking smile and said a hurried “Sorry, but I’ve really gotta go, thanks though!” before taking his iced coffee and running out of the store. Jack had a feeling that there might be a little something else behind it but he never pushed. He was obviously busy and seemed a bit stuck up, but maybe he had a reason to be. Jack wasn’t one to judge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doorbell pulled him from his trance. The sun had just begun to rise and he rarely got any customers this early, unless it was his brother Race on his way into work, and he would always call first. He looked up and saw David, standing in the doorway with a nervous look on his face and his hands shoved into his pockets. His face was a bit flushed from the cold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are y'all open? Because I can leave If not. I forgot to check the hours it is pretty early,” he said sheepishly, not meeting Jack’s eyes. He looked like absolute shit. His usual button-up shirt and jeans were replaced with a hoodie with what Jack was pretty sure was a ketchup stain smeared across the front and sweat pants. His brown hair was matted, there were dark circles around his eyes, his stubble was growing out, and he was walking into a Starbucks at five-thirty in the morning. Jack may have found himself in the middle of the mental breakdown of a college student. He felt pity for him. Jack had despised college and all of the constant stress. Based on his appearance he had always thought that this guy was just one of those people who was good at school.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, we’re open. ‘You okay, man?” He tried to keep the pity out of his voice and started to make his regular order (a venti iced coffee with cream and sugar.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honestly, my boyfriend just broke up with me and I’m a bit of a mess about it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. Well, that was a new development. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as he’d said it he’d regretted it. David did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>need to be disclosing his personal business to random boys in coffee shops. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cute random boys. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damnit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry, I have no idea why I told you that,” he said, trying to keep the panic from rising in his voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The barista looked up and gave him a small smile. “Don’t worry about it. If you wanna talk about it people don't usually start coming in for another half-hour,” he offered, sliding an iced-coffee over to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You knew my order?” David asked him, a little stunned. He suddenly had a terrible realization that he had never bothered to learn his name. Day after day he wandered in here, ordered, and barely gave the man behind the bar a second thought. Every once-in-a-while he remembered that he would try to make small talk, but David was always too anxious preoccupied to carry out a conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah! Ya’ come in almost every day,” he snickered, and David smiled back. His eyes wandered to the corner of the bar where a chalkboard was lying on its side. A few markers were scattered around it and he noticed that whatever was being drawn on it was half-finished. He looked back over at the barista who was leaning against the bar with his sleeves rolled back. The look on his face was a bit distant, almost as if he was lost in thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you draw that?” David asked, gesturing to the chalkboard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm? Yeah! I’m an artist,” he said with a nonchalance that David wasn't expecting. He felt awful that he couldn't remember the man’s name. Was he so stuck-up that he couldn’t bother to remember the name of the guy that poured his coffee every morning? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re really good, you could do it professionally.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man smiled and stifled a laugh. “Uh, I kinda do. I’m a set designer and I do some freelance work. This job is really more for fun.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You like waking up at ungodly hours of the morning to serve coffees to white ladies who’ll yell at you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What can I say, I find pleasure in the little things.” At that point, the man hoisted himself up onto the bar and swung his feet over so he was sitting, facing David. A grin was plastered on his face. “So, tell me about yourself, Davey.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know my name?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at your drink.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“David” was written across the plastic cup in bold block letters. “I thought you guys just printed the names in the receipts now. Ya know, to stop all of the spelling errors.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What can I say? I’m old school.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David was instantly drawn to him. He was charming, hilarious, and confident, even before six in the morning. It seemed as if he were in constant motion. His hands lashed around as he talked and he let his feet swing while he was sitting on the bar. Energy radiated from everything he touched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few minutes later customers started to trickle in and the barista began to work again. David would be lying if he said that watching him work wasn't mesmerizing. Pouring drinks had a certain rhythm to it that David hadn't noticed before. He sat at the back table for a while trying to burn the few hours he had to himself before class. During a lull, he went back up to the bar and caught the attention of the barista once again.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just sayin’ goodbye. This morning was fun.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope I helped cheer you up, you don’t look like your usual self.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>David smiled. Why this barista had any concern for him at all was beyond him, although when he thought back he had always been sweet to him and Les. He was just too wrapped up in his own shit to notice. “I’ll be fine. I’ll probably see you tomorrow.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Same time?” The man cocked his eyebrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I doubt it.” David rubbed the back of his neck. “Hey, um, this is sorta embarrassing to ask at this point but… could I maybe get your name?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Jack,” he replied, handing him a fresh cup of iced coffee. “Here’s one for the road. See ya tomorrow.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surprised and flattered, David walked out without saying goodbye. He turned back to wave at Jack from the window and he watched as he wiped down the counter and made small talk with other customers. When he looked down at his drink he almost dropped the cup. Written in bold, scratchy handwriting was his own name, as always, and Jack’s phone number.  </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. there's not a thing that's nearly as important</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The boys are conflicted. The girls decide to fuck with 'em.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. School has been kicking my ass lately and I haven't had too much time to write, but I really wanna finish this story! Hopefully, chapter three won't take as long. Thank you so much for reading! :) Slight warning for cursing and mentions of past abuse. Nothing too graphic tho</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jack walked into his apartment to find Race and Charlie grinning up at him from the couch. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” he asked, hanging up his coat on one of the hooks and stepping further into the living room. It wasn't a miracle that three twenty-something-year-olds could afford a three-bedroom apartment in Manhattan. Race was a certified genius who could work as an academic researcher in any college he wanted, and his husband was a child psychologist who already had a master's degree. Their combined incomes plus Jack’s and their mother’s occasional help made it so they could stun all their friends by bringing them into a home that was far too nice for them to live in. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We saw you this morning,” Race teased. “It looked like you guys were really hitting it off!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t you guys have anything better to do than stalk me? Jesus,” he said in mock-offense, quickly leaving the room so his brothers couldn't see the blush burning his cheeks. Okay, so maybe he and Davey had made… a connection? Jack really didn’t know what it was. Sure, he had been crushing on this customer for months, but Davey barely knew he existed until this morning. And, as he said, he had just gone through a terrible breakup. If there was one thing Jack knew it was that he couldn't be his rebound. That might just kill him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He opened the freezer for appearances, he was never particularly hungry after working around food all day, and then went quickly to his room before Race and Charlie could tease him again. Jack's room was overwhelmingly cluttered, but the chaos made sense to him. An easel was in the far corner, across from him bed (which he refused to move to the center of the room,) and a stack of unused canvases was piled up next to it. He kept his paints in a large canvas bag and his brushed in a cup that sat on his dresser. His paintings that he kept were either in his closet or hung up in his room. There was a pile of dirty laundry at the foot of his bed that he desperately needed to wash but never had quite enough energy. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looked back at the easel and saw his latest commission, half-finished and taunting him. Maybe working on some art would take his mind off of Davey. Sweet, doe-eyed Davey who had had his number for several hours now and still hadn't texted. But maybe Jack didn't want him to text. He didn’t want to be his rebound, but then again, did their relationship have to be romantic? Couldn’t they just be friends? Jack grabbed a paintbrush, feeling overwhelmed. He tried to distract himself by working on the meticulous details of the landscape. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Relationships had never been kind to him. Katherine was the last person he had dated and that ended in a shit-storm, but now they were closer friends than ever. Vulnerability had never been the easiest to express for him, and he discovered that in a relationship that’s what people expect. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You have to trust me, Jack,” Katherine used to beg. He tried, he really did, but he just never got there. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe that’s another reason Davey shouldn’t use his number. What made Jack think that he would be able to trust Davey if he couldn’t trust Katherine? Davey had just gotten out of a relationship. He didn’t need to deal with all of Jack’s emotional baggage. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But, it had been three years since Kath, and he liked to think he had grown a lot since then. He had gotten a job and things really started to turn around. He put so much of his energy into creating that expressing himself was starting to become easier and easier. It may have taken a long time to realize, but he knew he wasn’t a lost cause. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">God, what was he doing? He was having this internal fight over something that he had absolutely no control over. He had given his number to Davey. That was the end of it. All he could do now was wait. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">***</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I just don’t understand Sarah. Why would this guy give me his number after I had just finished telling him about my breakup? That’s…” Davey didn’t have the words. His sister just sighed over the phone. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, David. He obviously likes you. And he seems super sweet. Are you really heartbroken over that asshole?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wouldn’t say heartbroken,” Davey muttered. Yes, he knew that abuse is never the victim’s fault, but he was still ashamed. Ashamed of dating that monster in the first place, and for not leaving earlier when he first saw the signs. “I’m just not sure I’m ready for another relationship quite yet.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sarah paused. “That’s fair. Don't be too hard on him though, maybe just tell him you’re not interested the next time you see him. He seems really sweet though. What was his name again?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why, so you can date ‘em?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh hell no, you know I’m happy with Katherine, but maybe I know him. I go to that Starbucks too, ya know.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was Jack.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sarah paused again. “Wait, the Starbucks on 4th?” She sounded like she had seen a ghost. Davey stopped in his tracks. He was walking back to his apartment from his last class and his book bag was weighing heavy on his shoulder. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uh, yeah?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“David you idiot! That’s Jack Kelly! Kath’s ex!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh shit.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">***</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jack was washing his brushes off when the phone rang. Thinking it was a text from Davey, he ran to his bed to check it. It wasn’t. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>
      <em>Katherine: yo! r u busy? </em>
    </b>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>
      <em>Jack: what’s up</em>
    </b>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>
      <em>Katherine: come over!!!!!</em>
    </b>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>
      <em>Jack: 20 minutes? I’ve got some shit to tell you</em>
    </b>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>
      <em>Katherine: can’t wait! bring alcohol. &lt;3</em>
    </b>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If there was anyone who could help him work out his shit about Davey it was Kath. She knew him better than most, having dated him and all. He got a bottle of wine that he had been saving for the next time his mother came over, he would buy a new one and headed out the door. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Katherine opened the door in her sweatpants and a sports bra. Her hair was thrown up in a bun and she had on her glasses that Jack sometimes forgot she even needed. Even in workout clothes, she was one of the most beautiful women he had ever known, inside and out, and he was incredibly grateful they had stayed friends after the breakup. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Lookin’ lovely, Kath,” he smirked. She stuck her tongue at him and took the wine in one hand and his hand in the other, pulling him up the stairs of the brownstone. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, what did you wanna tell me?” she asked when they got into the kitchen. Jack started to answer but immediately stopped, frozen in the doorway. There, staring back at him, was Davey, looking just as shocked. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading!!! Comments make me so so happy and I try to reply to all of them. If you have critiques I'm happy to listen :) As always, my Tumblr is @/skiesof_hope so please come say hi on there. The chapter title is from a song called Bowling Shoes from the band Portland. I have a playlist for this fic so let me know if y'all want it. Thank you!!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! I have so many ideas for this story and I can't wait to write it. Hopefully, I'll be able to update at least once a week. </p><p>The chapter title is a line from Cigarette Daydreams by Cage the Elephant. I'm making a playlist for this fic so if you're interested let me know and I'll post the link! </p><p>As always, say hi to me on Tumblr, @/skiesof-hope! And please leave comments and kudos! They really motivate me to write and I'd love to hear your thoughts and/or theories of what might happen next!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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